Reap and Sow
by A Seamless Getaway
Summary: Effie Trinket learns about the true face of the Capitol and the ruthlessness of President Snow. If she can survive prison with Peeta long enough for help to arrive, she might just escape hell with her life. Might.
1. Chapter 1

Title: Reap and Sow  
Disclaimer: I do not own Hunger Games or its characters. That right belongs to Suzanne Collins.  
Warnings: Angst, Violence, Death, Sexual Situations, Coarse Language, Torture, Rape  
Rating: R  
Pairings: Effie/Peeta (friendship), Effie/Haymitch (romance), Effie/Katniss (friendship), Peeta/Katniss (romance)  
Date: 5/14  
Word Length: 4, 833  
Summary: Effie Trinket learns about the true face of the Capitol and the ruthlessness of President Snow. If she can survive prison with Peeta long enough for help to arrive, she might just escape hell with her life. Might.

NOTE: There are some spoilers. If you have not read the other two books, please, do not read any further. I don't want to ruin it for you. If you _have_ read the books or just don't care, continue on! And I hope you enjoy!

**Chapter 1: Welcome to Your New World**

When Effie was a little girl, she saw her whole life spread out in front of her; an endless parade of shopping and cotillions, cocktails and delicacies, and comfort. For a while she was happy.

She spent her youth doing what every finely brought up Capitol girl did. She learned to play the piano, and she studied literature, language, and history. She went to parties with her parents, celebrating the annual Hunger Games; making bets with girlfriends and raising money for gifts to their favorite tributes.

And she met boys. Lots of them. And they all loved her.

Everyone who met her loved her. She was more than proficient in oration and her exceptional poise was a gift her mother had instilled from daily lessons. In the eyes of the Capitol, she was an exemplary figure, and people celebrated her above all others around her.

It was only natural that she would become an escort for one of the districts. Her parents had been so proud. Friends and strangers were rife with jealousy when they heard. Although, when it was found that she would be the escort to _District 12 _there were more than a few snickers.

She never bothered though. She viewed it as more of a doorway. A chance to work her way up to a more coveted position; escort for Districts 1, 2, 3, 4, or 8. Her mother was happy. Her father was happy. That was all that mattered.

Then, she met Haymitch Abernathy. He was everything that she had been brought up to despise. Unkempt, coarse, unrefined. The only notable thing that he had ever done was win the 50th Hunger Games; two years before her own birth.

The first time she had met him, he had swaggered into the room, a cocktail in his hands. He had glanced around at the lavishness of the dining room, his eyes moving over the crystalline chandelier, over the plush chairs and the large screen television. He had come to a surprising halt in the middle of the room when his grey eyes had locked onto her. A low curse had met her ears, and he threw back his drink, which made her grimace with disgust. She made a move to speak a word of indignation, but was silenced by his glare.

"So. You're the new executioner for District Twelve."

She gasped, her cheeks heating up. His voice was gruff, but told her many things about his personality. Some of which she liked. Most of which she did not.

"I beg your pardon? I am the new _escort_ for the District. I am _not an executioner_" She moved toward him, her hands on her hips, trying to play down her annoyance.

He only smirked, and moved toward her. "Sweetheart, you might as well be. The poor districts understand better than anyone that the only thing that comes out of these damn 'games' is death."

She huffed. "Well. That will change. I guarantee you that. When I'm through with this District, people will applaud my name, and the _names_ of our victors."

He chortled, and moved closer. Maybe a little too close.

"What makes you think we'll have _victors_?"

His breath smelled like whiskey.

"Well…" she suddenly did not understand why it was so hard to gather a breath "with your help we can have the tributes up in shape before you even know it."

He smiled, his eyes dancing. But she had gathered no comfort from this. It was too cold. "You're either really stupid or really opportunistic to think it will be so easy."

Her cheeks were burning with indignation as she stepped closer. So much closer in fact that she could smell his scent. Alcohol, fresh air, and dirt. "I beg your pardon…" she spluttered.

He tried to hide a devilish grin, but failed. She looked up into his eyes, and just as she was about to give him a piece of her mind, something changed. His face grew softer. And before she even knew what had happened, he had wrapped his hands around her waist and kissed her.

It was soft. Gentle. Almost….why did she _like_ this?

He pulled away. Smiled. _SMILED_ at her. "It'll be a pleasure to work with you Effie Trinket. G'night"

And before she could do anything; slap him, shout at him-he was gone. She stumbled backward, almost tripping over her heels, her fingers grazing her lips. And blushed.

Maybe being the escort to District 12 wasn't so bad.

Except…it was worse than she had ever anticipated.

The feeling came over her slowly. The first two games were enjoyable. Haymitch sobered in preparation of the two tributes, his grey eyes shining like she had never seen them in the days before their arrival. And when they arrived, she genuinely enjoyed spending time with them. Getting to know them and taking them around the Capitol on tour was always one of the highlights of the week. She enjoyed her job.

Until they died.

And then she would mourn. Watching the screen piteously as they each died gruesomely. And each time they did, she would shed a few tears, her heart breaking for the two tributes who had been her…friends. She went to their funerals not just because it was her duty but because she was genuinely sad that they were dead. By their graves, she would plead with them for their forgiveness, asking them to do what she could not; to forgive her and not hold her as accountable as she wanted to hold herself, and go in peace.

Then she and Haymitch would walk slowly toward Victor's Village and she would spend the evening with him, reminiscing, planning for the next year's game. Promising that she wouldn't let the upcoming tributes die like this years had.

Except they did.

Every single year was the same. She and Haymitch would anticipate their arrival, making sure the train cars were designed for their comfort. Haymitch reviewed the rooms to make sure there were touches of home recognizable to the children. She tried to make sure everything was _perfect_. She made sure that they already had a few interested sponsors for their tributes.

Every year they greeted them. Helped them train. Tried to get them ready. Tried to get to know _them_. Every year she had to watch them die. If it was any consolation, they usually never made it away from the Cornucopia. Never had to suffer in the arena, or have to feel the intense hunger and fear other tributes had to face.

Haymitch gave up hope first. The pile of bottles in his room grew with every year. He became sober later and later, and stayed sober less and less of the time. He stopped giving all the helpful advice so freely. Stopped trying to put on a face for the children, stopped being amicable with her. Stopped coming out of his room. He grew angry with her.

Though she knew she didn't deserve that, she knew why he hated her so much. She picked the names. She worked for the Capitol. In effect, once a year, she played God. She found herself slowly loosing hope in her district. She realized one morning that she rarely gave a genuine smile for a tribute anymore. She didn't feel any excitement anymore for her job. She started to spend only the time that she _had_ to with the children. Tried to not talk to them about their family and their interests while also trying to convince, not only them but herself as well, that they could trust her to keep them alive.

Life went on like this, and in this time, twenty tributes from District 12 died. Effie was now 30.

She had just started to think about an early retirement where she could try to find _something_ to take away the images of her tribute's innocent faces when she called out two very unlikely names:

Katniss Everdeen  
Peeta Mellark

And she finally had hope. They were good. Better than the tributes from her first year, ten years ago. They had a fighting chance. She could tell that Haymitch saw it too. And although she felt regretful for not doing as much as she knew she could, she realized she would do more now. And Haymitch finally helped.

Behind closed doors.

The love interest Katniss and Peeta had helped them. Though, she didn't know why she had sudden bouts of jealousy when she thought about them and the love they shared. It was easy to play the cards with the citizens. When they won, she jumped for joy and then sobbed into her hands in relief. And for once, Haymitch sitting right next to her was a comfort instead of an annoyance. And the gentle touch soothed her slightly.

She had never given anyone as big a hug as she had Katniss and Peeta when they walked back into the apartment. She had never showed this side of her to anyone—including Haymitch, who stood flabbergasted in a corner before joining in the celebration. It felt like they were a family. And everything was going well.

The victory tour was tense, but wonderful. She finally had an accomplishment under her belt. And she had friends who understood what her job _really_ was like. She no longer had to go and visit grave sites if she wanted to talk to her past tributes. She no longer had to feel guilty when thinking back on them. Because _both_ of her tributes lived.

President Snow wasn't happy. But she didn't think that anything could be done about what had happened. She felt incredibly, undeniably happy once more.

Until the third-quarter quell. When only past victors could be chosen. For the rich districts, this was cause for celebration. They were rife with victors. And they could spare one or two. But she couldn't bring herself to get up that morning. It was a struggle to lace up her dress, to adjust her wig and put on some makeup. Because when she drew the names out of the bowl, it would be her friends this time that she was sending to the arena.

She would lose no matter what.

It was perfectly clear that both tributes could not come back alive this time. Katniss was going back into the arena. And although she was sad that she would potentially loose her one girlfriend from a district, she was more concerned about the boys. Because if she chose wrong, Haymitch would be going. And she didn't know what she would do if she didn't have Haymitch to help her, to comfort her, to sit by her and make jabs at her so that Peeta and Katniss could smile.

When she read out Haymitch's name, she almost fainted. Until Peeta stood up and offered himself as tribute. Although sad, she felt a sense of relief. Haymitch had become her friend. Without him, she didn't know if she could do this. Even though Haymitch told her he was convinced she could do anything.

Which had made her smile.

Haymitch's friends in the competition insured that Katniss and Peeta had some protection from the start of the games, which was beneficial since all the other past victors were friends with each other; they were more willing to kill Katniss and Peeta because they did not really know them. And the 'star-crossed lovers of District 12' campaign worked wonders for the crowd. Though she held her breath throughout the game. Praying silently as Haymitch watched with her that somehow they would both get out of this alive.

Except something was up. Haymitch wasn't his normal aloof self. He was confident, but shifty and left for long periods of time without telling her who he was going to see. At first she feared it was President Snow. He was a ruthless man, and unhappy with her. But as the secret meetings grew longer, and he returned more smugly than when he had left, she knew it was not Snow. It was something else. So, because he wouldn't confide in her, she helped in other ways. When people were looking for him, she made up alibis. When they kept coming back, she made up pressing matters.

She had a horrible suspicion that she had brushed off cavalierly. Surely he knew what a _rebellion_ would do. Not just to the country but also to herself and the district. She could get thrown in jail, executed, at the very least lose her job. And the district could be starved, or worse…bombed. It had happened before. And Snow was trigger happy to do it again. However, when the shield around the arena had exploded, and the air lifter had arrived and carried Katniss and two other tributes out of the arena and _away_ from the Capitol, she knew. She knew.

Even before the banging on the door began.  
Even before the power had gone out and the emergency lights had turned on.  
Even before she heard the sound of splintering wood.

That Haymitch had started something unprecedented.

And he had left her by herself.

**Internment Camp**

The prison was located on a secluded island off the shores of a large lake, far from the city and its anxious, uninformed citizenry. Standing on the rocky beach, the waves crashing onto the smooth pebbles, Effie finally understood what being a prisoner would mean. In her mind, she had imagined what it would be like, but in her head it was more romanticized.

In her mind, she was going to defiantly step out of the hovercraft, walking steadily toward her doom, her back rigid and chin high in the air. People around her would stop and stare in wonder at her, unable to understand how she could be so fearless. She would show Snow that she was not afraid of him. That he could not break her. That she would be free and safe and that Katniss and Haymitch would save her and then she would help to kill him. Then, in a prison cell with only a tiny barred window for light, she would sit, munching slowly and methodically on the food guards provided to her, refusing to talk, refusing to break to their will. Waiting for reinforcements from the rebels to break her out of the city prison, where she could then effectively lead a rebellion through the city.

She hadn't expected to be dropped into the middle of nowhere. The mountains surrounding her on three sides were brown and red, pointing high in the air like rusted knives, ready for helpless victims to fall upon their sharp peaks. The river feeding into the lake thundered as it made its way around a canyon, the rapids whipping up the water into a frenzy. Such inhospitable land, she did not know existed outside of the games. A few scraggly trees stood rooted in the dirt near the water's edge, providing no respite from the blistering sun overhead. This was where The Prism was.

The prison itself was only three stories high, made of solid black granite. An ominous chimney belched black smoke into the air, the smell revolting as it burned her nostrils. She was surprised. For all the political prisoners that had been seized around the Capitol—almost half of the intellectuals and more than two thirds of the media—it didn't look like there would be enough room. And the long lines of new arrivals like herself—men, women, children, the elderly— waiting to enter only seemed to solidify her confusion. The guard gripping her forearm must have sensed her confusion.

"Floors one through three are what you see now. They're processing and…recreation. Prison cells make up floors four through nine…all below ground where nothing but the drip of river water and the dampness of the ground can keep you company. And if that isn't enough, floors ten through fifteen are for _interrogation_."

Her breath hitched. It was massive then. And all below her feet. How many twisting corridors extended into the river bed? How many were already inside? How many were being tortured, driven mad_ right now_? How many were being starved? Did she know anyone inside? Where was Peeta? Cinna? What would happen to her?

The guard shoved her hard, and she stumbled forward, glancing behind her angrily. "Come on bitch, I don't have all day to spend admiring the countryside. I got three more shipments of prisoners to get through before I can go home to my family."

She chuckled a little. So naïve. If he did anything wrong now. If any of the citizens did anything wrong now. They would be ending up here with her.

Her first step was the hardest one to take. Her heart was beating out of her chest, sweat starting to trickle down her brow as she moved ever closer. Everything seemed to be going in slow motion as she made her way toward the gaping gate. How could anyone not try to stop this? Someone, anyone save her! And yet she walked calmly forward. She tripped only once in her flats, but she kept her quickened pace, pretending that instead of walking toward her hell she was really walking toward Katniss to talk to her about something.

Katniss. Where had that hovercraft gone? Where was Katniss now? Did anyone know that she was being forced to her death? If she was right, this prison was off the record. If she died, or was murdered, then her body would be disposed of via the chimney. That was what it was for. To get rid of the evidence and keep away the dampness.

…...

The lobby of the prison was ornate. Not as ornate as the public viewing room for District 12 during the games, nor as ornate as her own house, but it was nicer than what she expected it to be. White-gold marble floors extended in front of her, broken up by large brown pillars that looked as if they had come from the mountains themselves. Tables and chairs were interspersed around the room, and a fireplace filled the room with warmth.

She was pushed into a long line, where prisoners with the last names S-Z were being processed. It took a while, during which time she had the opportunity to think and to watch.

The prison was methodical, and if she was hoping for a chaotic mess, then she was disappointed. As people were processed, a guard loomed beside them on their right, and as each clerk swept their hand to the right, the guard would grab their prisoner, and drag them toward two heavy metal doors. Some would scream for help. Some called out messages of hope or laughed in derision of Snow and his clear fear of the opposition. Most however, were silent, and kept their heads down as they were dragged away.

What would she do when her time came? Would she scream and carry on and make a scene? No. It was not in her nature to make a fool of herself. Doing so now would go against everything she had been brought up to respect and hold dear. Besides, if she did decide to scream, to cry, to kick and try to run, then she would at best make herself a target of torture later on, or would be executed instantly. She had already seen a few prisoners be carried away toward a black door. She knew the signs. If the clerk saw that the prisoners name had been highlighted in pink, they were going through the two metal doors and presumably, down to the prisons. Those who were highlighted in blue were getting taken through a set of mahogany doors and up a set of stairs, though their fate was unknown to her afterward. And if they were highlighted in _yellow_…well…nobody wanted to be highlighted in yellow. Because if they did, the clerks faces scrunched up, and they rang a bell. And the room fell silent as they watched the guards drag the victim away and outside, where only a few seconds later, screaming could be heard and then, after only a few pauses, a gunshot.

It was almost her turn. The child in front of her was being swept aside, dragged toward the doors leading upstairs, while she cried in fear, her eyes and hair wild, a dark spot evident in the front of her dress: urine.

"Name?" The clerk had a gruff voice, and sounded almost bored with the job assigned to him.

"Trinket, Effie."

The clerk nodded, and swept a grimy nail down the ledger. As he looked, she glanced around the table. A glass bowl reminiscent to the one she used at The Reaping was by the edge of the table, filled with gold and silver rings, necklaces, and earrings. Two closed ledgers lay at the opposite side of the table, closed and glossy. Presumably they had been unopened as of yet, but since the ledger her name was in was almost to the end, it was clear that the next would be in use shortly.

The clerk craned her neck upward and squinted through his dirty spectacles. "Occupation Effie Trinket?"

She cleared her throat, "escort to District 12"

The clerk nodded, and then wrote something down on a piece of piece of paper. "Please prick your finger and place your print on the pad for verification."

She looked down at her finger, grimacing before glancing down at the pin positioned at the edge of the table. Slowly, she lowered her finger toward the table, a lump in her throat and her legs shaking. Now she knew what the children of District 12 went through during The Reaping. The prick only hurt initially, and when she had placed her finger on the electric pad, she sighed in a sort of relief the pressure provided. There was a low buzz, and then a soft beep.

She was expecting something else, but what she wasn't sure. Her finger was bleeding, the blood pooling out of her pricked finger into a little sort of round bubble. She was so intent on watching her own blood, having never seen it before, that she did not notice the clerk signal toward the guard. She only noticed that it was her time when she felt the guard's hard grip on her forearm.

She held her breath. Where would she be taken? She hadn't noticed the color beside her name, and she mentally kicked herself for not being more thorough. Was she headed upstairs? No. She was lead passed that door without a second glance from the guard. The door leading outside was in the opposite direction, and so she figured she was not going to be executed right away; a small relief in a burgeoning nightmare.

The doors ahead of her were thrown open by the two guards stationed at its entrance, and she was pushed inside roughly. "Welcome to prison, whore. I hope you enjoy your stay. It's funny. Before this, I used to watch you on the television. You used to lead those little brats from the coal district to their deaths. Now, I get to lead you to your own. Isn't life funny?"

Every word was callously spoken, and every word made her blood turn colder in her body. She wasn't getting out of here. She had known that, but it had been in the back of her head, easy to be distracted from by her other thoughts and feelings. Now that she was here though, it was the only thing she could think of.

The stairs she was led down were dark, and she stumbled a few times against the slippery, rough stone. Industrial lighting was dispersed intermittently along the staircase, leaving great patches in darkness. As she went deeper, the light became brighter as the natural light from the doorway disappeared and was choked out. Another thing she noticed; the walls were becoming slimier. Which meant they were going deeper underground, and were now probably below the lake.

She counted six turns in the stairwell, which meant that she was on the bottom floor of the cell section of the prison. Presumably, that meant she was more valuable, because the closer to the bottom you got, the closer to the torture center you were.

Which meant she would have the privilege of enjoying a nice, long stay.

The metal door at the landing squeaked open in protest when the guard unlocked it, and as soon as she stepped inside she had the intense urge to vomit. To say that it smelled unkempt would be an understatement. The whole hall smelled like urine, sweat, and vomit. From either side of her, along the wall muffled sobs echoed. But when she searched out for their owners, she was met by only solid metal doors. Whoever was lamenting, they were on the other side of the door.

"You're in good company slut. You're in a hall full of past Hunger Game victors, their mentors, and uncooperative escorts like yourself. You probably know half the worthless scum that live here."

She processed the information slowly. Her friends could be in here. _Peeta_ could be in here. Maybe if she was lucky, she would catch a glimpse of him in passing one day. If she did, maybe she wouldn't have so much anxiety about where he was—or more importantly—if he was alive.

"Sector Twelve, Cell 9865. Welcome to your new living quarters, Effie Trinket. Enjoy your stay."

The gate swung open slowly, and almost in slow motion, she was thrown inside. She lost her balance as she crossed the threshold and as she collapsed her arms pin-wheeled, before she struck the ground hard. The air left her with a whoosh and she cracked her head on the cold floor, the room becoming fuzzy and out of focus for a few seconds. So she lay there, staring up at the ceiling, at the one naked bulb shining its weak light down upon her.

Blinking, she slowly sat up, looking around her. There was a metal bed in the corner of the room, with some damp, dirty hay atop it for her 'comfort'. In a corner of the facility, farthest from the door was a rather large bucket, where she assumed, she would go to the bathroom when she needed to. Though, by the smell in the hall, she guessed that the buckets were not washed out frequently. Vowing to go to the bathroom only when necessary, she stood up, wrapping her arms around her waist.

She was alone.

**District 13**

Shit. Shit. Fuck. Shit. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

Effie. He had forgotten to tip her off. He had forgotten to warn her about what was to happen. Purposely, he had tried to keep her out of knowing what his plans were in the first place—to keep her safe and from harm so that nobody could hurt her—though he knew she suspected. She had been making excuses for his long periods of absence for ages. As if he hadn't been aware of her help. She was always helping him. Always caring—even if sometimes it came off as overbearing.

And he had forgotten her.

She would be at a prison now. She would have by now been processed . At this second, she may be in the middle of an interrogation. Or a torture.

And oh, God. If she wasn't alright, if she wound up dead and gone by the time he had her back in his arms…he wouldn't be able to ever forgive himself.

Because he loved her.

And she was alone.

**So, I hope you like it. This is my first Hunger Games story, and definitely my longest chapter. This story will be written, I just have to somehow find the time to write since I'll be working at a camp this summer, and so will be really swamped with work. Hopefully you all stick around. Please, give me a review telling me what you liked and didn't like. I realize the character is a little OOC. I'm sorry :/ **

**Till Next Time! **

**ASG**


	2. Chapter 2

**I am so incredibly sorry for the unexpected Hiatus wit this story. I was incredibly busy with an internship this summer, and then even busier with wrap up and packing and getting settled into college. Now that I've finally gotten settled and life seems to have given me a slight reprieve, I'm happy to give you this. I really hope you guys forgive me! I'll try to update faster now that I'm back!**

**Enjoy!**

_Chapter 2: Introductions and Threats_

"So, this is Effie Trinket, escort to the _star-crossed_ _lovers of District 12_. "

The Warden was a rough man with the gentleness of a rhinoceros and malice almost equal to President Snow. His hair was jet black, smoothed back with too much Capitol gel. His clothes were the pristine uniform of a general. And his teeth were perfectly straight and too dazzling white to stare at directly. When Effie had first seen him, she had hoped that maybe he would be a reasonable man at the least, though strict. It wasn't until she had seen the flash of anger in his violet eyes upon seeing her that she realized that he was as much of a monster as she could possibly meet.

"You must be the Warden."

He nodded, a smile expanded across his face stretching a scar gracing his left cheek grotesquely and doing nothing to alleviate her fear. "How very right you are Ms. Trinket. And you would do well to remember _exactly_ who you are speaking to the next time you think about opening your mouth without being requested to do so."

She nodded quickly, diverting her eyes to his desk. It was stainless steel, with sharp corners and a cold, hard gleam under the slatted shafts of dying sunlight streaming through his window that must have matched well with his heart. Behind her, the monotonous sound of the crashing waves against the rocky shore let her know just how alone she was here. There was nobody to help her here. She was far from the protective barrier of Haymitch Abernathy. She was far from the security of her posh apartment and sports car.

"Now, down to business Ms. Trinket. I am not a very patient man. When I order something to be done, I expect it to be done immediately, or else certain… _repercussions_ will be enacted to insure cooperation in the future. You will be provided two meals daily; breakfast and dinner. These are only afforded to you out of the kindness of our heart. I have _no doubt_ that you are just a loyal citizen of our country accidently caught up in this mess. If I am right, you will be home quickly." He paused, and his voice became harder as he glared at her from behind the desk. "However, if you prove to be a rebel sympathizer than your situation here at the compound will be dramatically changed, and I can assure you that is one thing you do not wish to happen."

Obviously, he was taking much amusement in these open ended threats. Perhaps this was one of the highlights of his day, although something told her he was only satisfied when there was blood flowing. And she had no doubt that she would have to watch out for a careless swish of a whip during her current imprisonment.

"Once a week, you will be interrogated by one of our certified psychologists to ascertain your mental proficiency. And three times a week for two hour sessions you will be subjected to interrogations by our trained…_physicians._"

Physicians. The way that he spoke the word made her identify them as more of a torturer. She had expected as much when she had first caught sight of the rocky island prison. No matter what they did to her, she refused to reveal any information that would put Haymitch, Peeta and Katniss in danger. Clearly, they were a part of the rebellion, and no matter how much she had tried to suppress the thought, finally being exposed to the evil of President Snow was more than enough to convince her that what they were doing was right. There was no way in Panem that she was going to put them in danger.

"You have nothing to fear if you have nothing to hide."

She nodded again, clearly dumbfounded. Outside in the hallway, a disturbance was occurring. There was a bang, the sound of something heavy being kicked and then the tell-tale shatter of glass hitting the cherry-wood floor. More grunting followed. Then a slap, and a loud thud, which echoed in the general's office, which had gone eerily silent.

He looked very pleased, another malignant smile spreading across his face. "I do hope you'll enjoy your time here with us Ms. Trinket. Have a pleasant evening." He snapped his fingers before she could respond, and the guards stationed on either side of the door were wrenching her out of the hard seat and opening the door.

As she was ushered out, she got a quick glimpse of two unified soldiers. The one on the left was sporting a large red handprint across his face. A blue and white terracotta pot had indeed shattered across the floor, and the table that it had rested on prior to the altercation was on its side, two legs snapped off and laying haphazardly across the hall. She had one good chance to see the prisoner who had made the mess, but was overcome with a wave of shock when she realized who it was: Margaret Undersee.

The mayor's daughter of District 12. She was sporting a black eye, and her knee-high yellow sundress with the pretty pink sash was ripped down one arm, exposing a line of blood. Her stomach was heaving, and she continued to try to pry herself away from her guards, her eyes a blazing fire. Recognition registered in her eyes and she smiled once before she was shoved unceremoniously into the office, the door slamming behind her. She heard the Warden's shouts before the door to another spiraling staircase was opened, and she was led away.

She resolved then and there that she was going to be as courageous as Margaret Undersee.

…

Dinner had been served; a meager helping of stale bread and watery vegetable soup which had been slid into her room from a grate in the doorway. Since returning from her meeting with the Warden, she had been left to her own devices. So far, it seemed like this was going to be all the excitement that she would experience for one day, which she was thankful for. Outside, cell doors were clanging open and prisoners were being dragged through the halls. There were a few altercations, but with no way to see out of her cell, she had stayed where she was and hoped as the sound of marching feet passed her door that she would be left alone.

Her bed was still lumpy and thin and moldy, but at least it was mostly dry. From the small grate along the right side of the wall she was able to peer into the room next to her. From the puddle on the floor and the sound of dripping water, she was sure that somewhere in the ceiling, there was a crack. At least here she was mostly warm. Not comfortable; far from it. But at least she wouldn't have to contend with soiled sheets and freezing nights. That was a dangerous combination already, but in a place like this, where your next meal was uncertain it shot up the probability of death.

Sometime during the night, the bare light-bulb above her flickered and switched off, plunging her in a darkness so thick that it made her feel as if they whole room was collapsing around her. To pass the time till sleep overtook her, she stared up at the ceiling and thought about what Haymitch was doing now—probably drinking (a safe bet) but she could imagine him doing other things as well; sitting in high-security meetings with other rebel leaders, training rebel soldiers for war, strategizing. Her eyes were heavy, and it wasn't long before she succumbed to sleep.

….

She was awoken by the banging of her cell door, and the beam of light that flooded her room, blinding her. As she sat up, three shadowy figures emerged. Gruff voices of guards filled her ears, but what they were saying wasn't registering with her mind, which was still groggy with sleep. She felt like she was underwater, or in a dense fog. She could _hear _their voices but they sounded far off. One thing was certain though, they weren't talking to her. Somebody got thrown into the room, and as they landed onto the hard concrete, the door slammed shut and she was plunged into darkness. Instantly, she felt the relief. Her eyes were now accustomed to the darkness, and she could see more than just the persons outline. They were still on the ground, prostate, shivering in the cool air.

"Who…who are you?"

The person…a boy was instantly up and crawling backwards until he collided with the wall. "Who's there?"

Clearly, she would have to initiate a conversation. "My name is Effie. Effie Trinket."

He raised his head tentatively, "You were the escort for Peeta Mellark and Katniss Everdeen, weren't you?" The boy had a soft voice, sweet and a little effeminate. And from what she could tell from his outline, he had a trim, fit body.

"Yes. I was. Who are you?"

"My name is Aidan Crestwell. I'm from District 4."

"I don't remember your name. You weren't a victor were you, I swear I'd remember you if you were, I take pride in knowing who has won the Games since before I was even born." The boy was moving closer to her, and even though her mind was screaming for her to move away, she stayed put.

"No. I'm not a victor. And I know what you're going to ask me next. I'm not here because of what I've done. I'm here because of who I am. I'm Finnick Odair's nephew. And I'm pretty sure they're trying to use me to get to Finnick. I've seen Annie around too. It looks like he wasn't fast enough to get her away. Figures though, he only ever looks out for himself." He said this last part bitterly, looking down to the ground.

Though she wanted to protest, she sensed an underlying family issue that was causing his anger, and she didn't want to anger him any further, especially when they were only meeting each other. First impressions are lasting, something her father and mother had drilled into her since the time she was young.

"Did they….did they hurt you?"

He cocked his head to the side. "Yes. But that's to be expected when you're a political prisoner in the _dear_ country of Panem." He spit, and scoffed. "Not tonight though. I've just gotten out of my sentence of forced starvation so they won't hurt me for a while. They need me looking presentable."

Again, not something she wanted to ask about but for an entirely different reason. She didn't think she'd like the answer. Besides, if she asked she'd only be informed of the treatments in store for her future. "Are you tired?"

He nodded.

"Come here, we can share the mattress. Just for heaven's sake stay on your side so that we don't wake up in a compromising position."

He laughed dryly, beginning to feel his way toward her. "You have nothing to worry about Effie Trinket. No offense, but despite your obvious beauty, there is no attraction in that sense. And there never will be."

Unsure of what he meant, she moved over, and let him slide onto the bed. He was out seconds later, his quiet breathing soothing and innocent, let her know that he was younger than she had originally thought.

….

Morning. Or at least what _should _have been morning. It was hard to tell when there was no window. The light-bulb above them had turned on with a low electric whine, startling her out of her fitful sleep. Movement across the room had her sitting up in an instant, her heart racing. The boy from last night was sitting on the ground by the door, a tray of food between his legs.

"Good Morning Effie. Was your night as comfortable as mine was?"

She rolled her eyes. "Of course not. Where did you get that food?"

"They slid it in ten minutes ago. They only brought one though. I'm only eating half, so that you'll get a good share."

She nodded dumbly. She was too busy studying Aidan to really care what he was saying. She was right, he was young. He had dark hair, thick and lush and beautiful. His body was thin, with sinewy muscle common of those in District 4 that worked on the fishing vessels. His eyes looked up at her through thick eyelashes, green and lush like the forests Katniss and Haymitch had grown around living in the Seam. There was no doubt he was good looking. That trait, there was no doubt, he had in common with his cousin. He smiled at her, shallow dimples forming in his cheeks and his eyes crinkling slightly at the corners.

Her grumbling stomach caused him to laugh, and after ripping another small piece of the stale bread off the roll, he slid the tray carefully toward her. "You can have the rest. It's yours anyway."

She nodded her thanks and gently lowered herself to the floor.

"Jesus. If I had known you would be this beautiful I might have been more nervous when I climbed into bed with you last night."

She blushed, taking a sip of watery soup.

"Yeah, yeah I'm a real charmer."

Aidan's face fell, and he turned quickly, listening. Down the hall, a few of the doors were starting to bang open. Apparently, something was happening. Gobbling down her bread, she and Aidan both jumped when the door of the cell banged open. Aidan immediately became stiff, his face draining of color.

"Both of you. Out. Now."

Standing on shaking legs, she slowly exited the cell with Aidan in tow. They were silent as they ascended the same damp and slippery staircase, ascending together toward the lobby. Perhaps they were going to be executed. Perhaps they were going to go meet the Warden again. The doors were flung open, and Aidan visibly flinched at the light. They were led up the stairs she had been wondering about, and it was only after they opened the door that she relaxed.

She was in a strange room. The floor was made entirely of smooth tan wood. Three of the four walls only had chain-linked fences with barb wire on top, letting in the balmy breeze. The fourth, was a solid black wall with a window set high up near the top. Inside, she could just see the shadowy figures of Peacekeepers. They were shoved inside, and then the door slammed again.

"W..where are we?"

"Its called the common ground. It's a chance to keep active so that our bodies don't go straight to hell with our souls. It's a charitable service. This place is _always_ thinking of our comfort first."

She looked around the room. Haggard prisoners slowly shuffled around, talking to one another on benches, mourning their friends, celebrating their survival.

"There's your friend."

Indeed it was. Peeta was there. But there was another boy sitting next to him. He had golden hair and the bluest eyes Effie had ever seen. He looked unfriendly. Worse, he looked familiar. Like…Cato. But that didn't matter now. Peeta was there and safe.

"Peeta! Oh darling, I'm so happy you're ok. I was sure that you would end up here, I just didn't know exactly if we would see each other. Oh! This is good news!" She enveloped him in a hug, and surprisingly, he gripped her back, the first time he had reciprocated one of her infamous hugs.

"Effie. I'm sorry to say I was hoping you weren't going to be here. Haymitch didn't get you out?" He tilted his head, "Who is this?"

"This is Aidan Crestwell. Finnick Odair's nephew. We're cell mates in this absolutely _horrid_ place. At least the bed is large enough to fit both of us, the floor is simply _not_ an option at all."

Peeta stuck out his hand. "It's nice to meet you. Any friend of Effie's is a friend of mine."

Aidan grinned back. "Likewise." He turned to the other boy. "And who's this?"

Peeta waited a few seconds, shifting his eyes between Aidan and the boy before interrupting the uncomfortable silence. "Uh…this is Cassius. His brother was Cato actually. He doesn't talk much, but he's a really nice guy once he opens up."

"I'm right here Mellark."

Aidan grinned and sat down next to Cassius while she plopped down next to Peeta, forming a circle of sorts. Their group probably looked very strange, but it made no difference to her. She was just happy to have found allies in her plight here.

"Have you too been faring well? Or have you been treated to the legendary services of the Capital?" Aidan inquired, glancing angrily up toward the observation window.

Cassius' lip twitched into a smile as he looked over at Aidan. On closer inspection, he was almost a spitting image of Cato. Only he was a younger version. His frame was neither as imposing nor bulky as Cato's had been, but they were still impressive in every sense. His jaw was chiseled, his hair thin and styled, even here. And his eyes were as blue as the sea Aidan lived so close to and his skin was healthy and tan and gleamed in the sun.

It was a strange group yes. But it was promising. Maybe together they could live.

**DISTRICT 13**

It had been a week since the Bombing of District 12. One week since over three thousand men, women, and children had been incinerated by falling bombs. If losing Effie hadn't been enough, losing his goddaughter had hit the nail in the proverbial coffin. For a solid two nights, he had been drinking away his pain and torment. It had done nothing. He still had visions of a starving Effie behind grimy bars in some Capital prison. He still had nightmares of Madge burning to death in her house, screaming for somebody, _anybody_ to help her. He was a failure.

It took another day to sober up. One full day of vomit and angry curses. Of chasing Coin's personal lap-dogs away with the switchblade he kept on him at all times. One full day of little white pills and pounding headaches. One full sleepless night of staring at the bathroom mirror to figure out what the hell he was doing with himself.

But now it was the fourth day. And it was time to spring into action. There was nothing he could do at the present moment for Effie. There would never be a chance to do anything for Madge. What he could do was avenge them though. He would make the Capital suffer for the years of torment they had put him through. But first he had a mission. Gale Hawthorne. Apparently, according to Hazel he was a nervous wreck. As an expert on what that was like, he had agreed to help the young Hawthorne boy. To keep him from turning down the same path he had.

That's why he found himself standing in the hallway of an apartment owned by a kid he half disliked on principle. A kid who was currently siting on the edge of an old, stained couch with his head hanging low and his hands clasped as if in prayer between his knees. Maybe he was praying. It made no difference to him. "Hawthorne. Come on. Get your ass off the couch, we have work to do."

He didn't even look up. Instead he mumbled, "Fuck off. I'm not in the mood to play soldier today." He took a swig of something, and grimaced. "I'm not in the mood to do much anymore."

He scoffed, and kicked his leg softly with his foot. "Yeah well, sometimes we have to do things we aren't looking forward too. I'd have thought you were used to that, being from the Seam and all."

Hawthorne looked up a brief second, glaring at him before lowering his head. "Dammit Haymitch. I'm not in the mood! Leave me the hell alone! Go talk to _Katniss_ if you want to bother somebody."

"Gale.."

"Fuck off!" He yelled, standing up. He backed off, startled by the close proximity that they had suddenly entered. But it was just as suddenly revoked when Gale slumped over again onto the couch. "Don't you understand? She's GONE and I have nothing. Nothing." His shoulders began to shudder as silent tears began to fall.

In an instant, he was sitting on the couch, a soothing hand on Gale's shoulder. As much as this was uncomfortable, the prospect of doing nothing was even worse. "It wasn't your fault Gale. It wasn't—"

"Of course it was my fault! She's dead! I promised I'd protect her when things went to hell. I broke that promise! I didn't get there in time! The house was collapsing by the time I reached the back gate. I…I ran to Victor's Village to get Prim and Ms. Everdeen before I even thought of Madge. And that's what kills me the most…I was….am…so stupid."

"Gale. _Listen_. You didn't kill Madge. I know what you're feeling. I know how _easy_ it is to fall into the trap of believing you killed that person. But you didn't drop those bombs that night. You didn't attack District 12. She died that night, but you didn't order her death. She loved you. She knows you loved her too…"

"Stop, Haymitch. Please. How could she still love me in those final moments when she realized I wasn't going to get her. I assumed…I assumed she'd be ok. That because she was the Mayor's daughter the Capital would protect her. I'm just a stupid bastard, Haymitch. She deserves to be here much more than I do. _I want her here with me NOW. _But she's not…and now we'll never be together.."

He sighed. "I know. I know. It'll be ok Gale. We'll work together to take down the Capital. We'll do it for Madge. We'll do it for the girl that created the girl on fire."

He nodded. And together they mourned.

**I hope I haven't lost too many of my readers. I'm sorry if I've disappointed you guys. I know how much I hate when a story I like doesn't get updated fast enough. I'm going to try to update faster. I've got a tentative idea of where this story is headed. :) As always, reviews are definitely appreciated. Tell me how much this sucked, or how much you liked it, or even what you thought of the new characters and twists. I hope you enjoyed it! Till next time, **

**Josh. **


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: I do not own the Hunger Games. :/ **

Darkness. Quiet. It was always eerie when night fell. Not because of the changing light—their cell almost never had any to begin with…but because when night fell, there was no noise. The squeak of cell doors ceased, the clacking of Peacemakers marching down the hallways faded, and the rustling of prisoners even ended. Night was terrifying. It was when she was able to think about what had happened that day, to wonder about what would happen next, to dream about a life with Haymitch. Worse were the nights without Aidan. And they were becoming more frequent as her stay progressed. Nights were when the peacekeepers came.

Every time the cell door was thrown open, she braced herself for the rough hands of guards. She coached herself to make sure that her face remained blank. And every time that Aidan was pulled out, was another time she was left in the dark, heart thumping, to wonder when _her_ hell would begin. So far she had been unscathed. The only thing she had suffered from was lack of regular showers and missed meals. It was frustrating. She wanted them to come and get her. That way it'd be over.

Often, when Aidan returned he was despondent, staring blankly at the wall or the floor. More often, he curled up in the bed, eyes wide open and shining in the dim light that escaped from the space beneath the door. On a few occasions, he even lashed out at her, yelling for her to get away, and using a few curses that she was sure Haymitch would be quite pleased to hear. On those nights, sleep would not come to Effie. Instead, she would spend the few hours of silence they were permitted slowly stroking Aidan's back the way her mother had once done to her when she was a little girl, whispering soothing words as Aidan's shoulders gently shook. She wondered what they were doing to him, but whenever she asked Aidan's eyes would grow dark and the subject would quickly change.

A strange event was happening simultaneously though, one that made her confused and her curiosity grow. Sometimes, when Aidan came back, on the nights that he would lay in bed in tears, little bundles would be thrown back into the room with him. Each time they were different, and often they were items that they were in need of: a fresh bar of soap, a chunk of fresh bread, a pair of socks. Aidan pretended they didn't exist, often times passing them to her mutely, refusing to look at it even when she begged him to keep it, leaving her frustrated and confused.

Last night was one of those increasingly frequent nights where she stayed up and tried to comfort him. So when the guard orders them both to step outside and pushes them down the same path toward the recreational center, her eyes aren't just burning from the light. However, when the doors are thrown open and she sees Peeta and Cassius sitting in the sun, the only thing she can do is sigh in relief. No matter what has happened, they are both safe. Although they are more silent and stoic in their approach, both still hear them and turn expectedly. And though their exhaustion is noticeable, neither remark on it.

"Hello all," she mumbles, turning over her shoulder quickly at the sound of the door slamming shut. Ever since she's got here, she's becoming increasingly nervous of doors. Cassius nods, his eyes focused on her dark circles before turning and studying Aidan. Peeta, however, is not as subtle. "Are you two ok?"

She cleared her throat, eyes dancing to Aidan before looking down at the concrete. "Let's talk about something else, shall we?"

Aidan nodded, and Cassius seemed pleased with the movement. She supposed she should be as well. He wasn't catatonic. "Let's play a short game? We hardly know anything about us. We might as well remedy that while we have the chance to do so. How about each of us asks a question, and afterward, each of us has to answer. Then the next person can ask a question, and we'll repeat. Simple?"

Peeta enthusiastically agreed, and his boyish smile made her feel like they were on the Victory Tour, not in a Capitol prison. The others nodded their consent, which she was rather pleased about. Apparently prison couldn't eradicate her ability for good planning.

"Alright…I'll start. It's only fair since I made up the game. An easy one to begin with, yes? How old are you? I'm thirty," she smiled and slightly waved her hand in front of her face, as if to brush away mute exclamations of disbelief, "I know, _I know_. But living in the Capitol does have its advantages."

Cassius was next to speak, his voice was steady when he revealed he was seventeen.

Aidan had stepped out of his shell slightly, and had scooted forward, leaning backward and settling his weight on his arms. "I'm sixteen."

Peeta shrugged. "Seventeen."

Cassius went next, sitting up a little straighter and chewing his cheek before finally asking "where is your favorite place to think? Mine is at the training center. Destroying the dummies and working on my muscle tone was really the only place I could think, mostly because nobody but my trainer bothered me there."

Peeta smiled, then sighed a little, and looked out toward the trees. "Mine was in the bakery. My parents owned the only one in the district. I worked there after school, icing the cakes and making bread. I could spend all day kneading. It's how I sorted out everything that came up in my life."

"Mine was out at sea. At sunset when I was supposed to be out retrieving the nets, sometimes I would just sit on the edge of our boat and dangle my feet in the water. The…sunsets were amazing." He shook his head and smiled, before rubbing his eyes. Peeta nodded, and Cassius patted his leg stiffly. Like Katniss, comforting people was apparently not a strong suit.

"Nobody really knows this, but my favorite thing to do was take long walks at night. I could just watch the other citizen's bustle to some bar or restaurant or party. I could really focus on what was around me, or just stand on the corner of the Pavilion and watch the neon lights flash, If you ever get a chance, I _highly_ recommend it."

Aidan snorted, and lightly bumped her, a grin on his face. "Sure Effie, I'll be sure to put it on my list for when I get out of this place."

Cassius gave a dry laugh, but Peeta only nodded and smiled.

"What do you miss most about your old life, now that you're here?" Aidan asked, staring at each of them in turn. "I miss the ocean. It was the freest thing in our district, and something I fell in love with at an early age. It could do anything; be docile or destructive. And nobody could control it."

Although it was a definitely anti-Capitol answer, Effie shrugged it off. "I miss…I miss baths. As soon as I get out of here, the first thing I do, the _very first_ is going to be taking a long bath with my lavender soap." She sighed, and picked up her arm to reveal a long dark smudge on her arm. "Definitely my first act."

Everybody laughed then.

"I miss my family. They were harsh, and we only ever predominantly cared about our training for the games, but it was my family. The most important thing in this world, in my opinion."

Aidan snorted, then looked at Cassius. "I'm sorry. That's actually really beautiful. I just don't happen to agree with you on that aspect anymore."

Cassius nodded. "If everybody valued the same thing, then nothing could ever work. No victory is assured because everyone totally agrees on all points of an attack. It takes diverse ideas to bring about the victory. I don't agree with you, but I will respect your reasons, because you respected mine."

"That was wise, Cassius. You're a good leader. I miss the mountains of District 12. And the forests. They're so beautiful because they are not perfect. To me, only the rough and raw is beautiful because it doesn't try to hide itself. Instead, it proudly displays it."

"That's why you love Katniss."

Peeta was startled, and looked toward her. "Yes…I suppose so." He took a sharp breath, and exhaled slowly. "My turn? What is your family doing now? Mine is…well…probably doing the same as before. My father and mother must be running the bakery. Hopefully father is icing the cakes though, mother's hand is not steady enough and she isn't patient enough to produce the correct styles."

"My family must be doing the same as always. Backing the Capitol. My father is probably overseeing the renovation on the training center. He's an architect. Mother… she is probably taking care of the house, like all women in district 2 are expected to do." He sighed, trailed off.

She gave a little laugh, and looked at them all. Cassius was staring at her unabashedly again. Peeta was almost lost to his own thoughts, probably back at home with Katniss and his family. Aidan…he was staring at the ground and refused to look up. "I am alone. I have no family."

She looked toward Aidan then. He was pale, and angry looking. "I too have no more family left. The Capitol…" he took a deep shuddering breath and tried to blink back tears. "They killed them all before they took me. A revenge for my uncle's participation in the destruction of the games."

Peeta looked sad. "I'm sorry." She gripped Aidan's hand tightly, but he only shook his head and wiped tears away angrily.

"Do _not_ say you are sorry for what happened that night. It is not you whose hands are coated in their blood, but my uncles. If he had thought about anyone but himself he would have had the foresight to not be so foolish, or at least he would have taken us with him when he fled to safety. Instead, he abandoned us to our deaths."

"Aidan…do not be angry at your uncle for what happened. He was doing what he thought would result in a better world. What he did was brave, because he did what he believed in."

"Don't you judge me for what I think. He. Left. Us. I had three young sisters besides my mother and father. And the peacekeepers slaughtered all of them without remorse. And Uncle Finnick couldn't even find the decency to warn us of what might be soon coming. And I…couldn't do anything to save them."

Effie pulled Aidan into her side, just as he dissolved into tears. She felt them wet her skin, as they soaked through her clothes. Movement brought her back to her senses. Peeta kneeled behind her, his hand slowly rubbing his back. Cassius was kneeling beside him, silent, a hand on his other shoulder.

"It'll be ok. We're going to stick together. Nobody is going to abandon anyone. Not here. Not ever." She spoke both for Aidan's benefit as well as her own.

She was pushed down the staircase. She slipped twice on the grime covered rock and the grip on her arms only tightened as a coppery taste filled her mouth. Eventually she was pushed through a grimy door.

The hallway she now found herself in was a blinding white. A sterilized white. The hallway was long, with a harsh fluorescent glare that only enhanced the loneliness of the place. As Effie was pushed down the hallway, she felt as if she was entering into a hospital corridor, and on instinct glanced behind her to assure herself that she was still in captivity, and not back in the Capitol. Each door she passed was made of wood. A guard was positioned in front of a few doors randomly up and down the hallway, and they seemed to stare through her as she passed. Assuming that they were guarding rooms where prisoners resided, she steadied herself for what was to come. Beside every door, a thick glass window was set into the wall, and through these she could see the rooms within.

They were terrible. And they varied. Her mind wouldn't let her register anything beyond what she saw. But what she could understand made scalding tears prickle her eyes. In some, only a table and chairs filled the room. These were obviously interrogation rooms. In others though, instruments and other equipment dominated her vision, and they made her feel sick. These machines were clearly meant to inflict pain, to cause harm to people. They were made with evil intentions for an evil ruler. They solidified in her mind that Haymitch and the rebels were right.

She was pushed into a dark room, and only when the door slammed behind her did the lights above her flicker on. She was in one of the simple rooms. A desk and two chairs dominating the center of the room. A light breath escaped from behind her parched lips, but her relief was short lived when a very strict doctor walked through the door. He had wire rimmed glasses and a sour face, like he had just eaten something extremely sour and the taste hadn't exactly dissipated.

"Sit."

She did as she was told, sinking into the chair, her eyes lingering on the tightly shut door before moving back to the man in the room. "I am a doctor Ms. Trinket. Today, I am going to ask you a few questions. Failure to cooperate will result in immediate punishment. Do you understand?"

She nodded curtly, and steeled herself, her back stiffening as she wondered what they would ask her of.

"How well do you know Katniss Everdeen?"

She cocked her head, still surprised, though she expected it, that they would ask her immediately about Katniss. "Well, she was tribute for the 74th games. As such, we had a relationship closer than most in the Capitol, though I must admit that she and I never got along as swimmingly as Peeta and I did. She's smart, and she's brave and she can do anything she puts her mind too. She's very closed off I'm afraid, although she does warm up quite nicely once you get to know her. I expect that's why she and Haymitch got along so well. They were almost the same person."

The doctor, or whoever he really was, jotted something down in quick, flowing script, then ran the tip of his pen down the paper, pausing at a particular section. "And what was your relationship with Haymitch Abernathy like?"

What could she say? Implying that they were more than friends would almost certainly confirm, in their minds, that she knew more than she really did about the scheme that had led to the collapse of the 75th games. If she denied a relationship though, wouldn't they assume her a liar anyway? "We were close, if that's what you mean. We worked for each other for years, training tributes and finding sponsers for them, although I dare say that he was never as good at getting donations as I …he isn't a people person." She tried to smile in the end but she was afraid it came out more like a grimace instead.

"And what exactly unfolded during your _training sessions_, Ms. Trinket?" The way he said her name was making her uncomfortable.

"Well…District 12 is not the most _affluent_ district certainly. I spent most of my time trying to teach them proper manners and etiquette to impress the Capitol. Also, I worked closely with the designers to create an appropriate look based off of tribute's character. Made appearances on television to garner support, and generally tried to keep them on task. Haymitch worked on their survival skills."

"You didn't help facilitate the knowledge of weaponry to Katniss Everdeen? Her skills with a bow have been brought into question."

"No. I don't know how to use a weapon, and I certainly never helped Katniss. I assume she just has raw talent."

"Did you know at any point that Katniss Everdeen had aligned herself with the Rebels to violently end the games?"

She thought it ironic that they thought the destruction of the force field surrounded the arena, not the killings themselves, as violent. "No. I had no prior knowledge. Not until the force field shattered and the power went off that I realized what had happened."

"And what knowledge did you have, if any, about Haymitch Abernathy's role in raising a rebellion?"

"None whatsoever. Haymitch would leave for long stretches of time as the games drew nearer, but he would never let me know what he had been discussing or where he was going when he left me. I assumed that he was going to high ranking officials to talk about sponsorship or was otherwise preoccupied with the President, and either was too flippant to reveal to me what he was doing or else could not."

"Would you be able to give a list of any or all names or personal information of those most frequent in Mr. Abernathy's presence?"

"I wouldn't quite know. He kept a tight lip about who he was talking too, as I was just saying now. He did visit the Undersee family quite a bit during his stays in District 12. Although, I attribute that to the fact that their daughter was his god-daughter."

"What relationship did you have with Haymitch Abernathy in your private life?"

She tried to keep her hands from shaking as she took in the question, "none", although she doubted she sounded so sure of herself now.

"None? Several sources have reported that you and Mr. Abernathy were indeed quite close. At times, too close for a business relations to be."

"I'd like to know your sources then, because I find it hard that anybody would be able to ascertain my interactions with Mr. Abernathy during times that none else were privy to see except for our stylists, our tributes, and the avoxes."

"I will be asking the questions today Ms. Trinket." His tone was deadly and deep. It frightened her, and made her voice die in her throat.

"One last question. How is young Aidan getting along?"

…..

Later, when she was returned to her cell, Aidan asked her what they had done to her, while sweeping his eyes over her body.

"They asked me some questions."

He nodded, silent.

"That's how it starts."

**So hello all! Im not really sure how I feel about this chapter, so I was wondering if you guys wouldn't mind giving me some extra feedback this chapter? Thank you so much to everyone who has reviewed the last 2 chapters, I've loved every review :) **

_**Important Notice**_**: I'm going to put up a poll on my site, asking for whose POV you want predominantly in the next chapter. So go to my profile and tell me what you want! Please? It only takes a few seconds. :) **

**Tell me what you think! Thank you so much for reading and I hope your Thanksgiving break went really well! Finals are coming up for me, so right now my life is a hot mess of death and that's why its taking so long to get up the chapters. I hope you guys aren't too upset by that. Forgive me!**

**Best regards, **

**Josh. **


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